


That one wicked night

by Gry_Gatevold



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Fluff, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gry_Gatevold/pseuds/Gry_Gatevold
Summary: It's the Summer of 1999.After the war, everyone is anxious to create harmony. To celebrate the new inter-house-unity, Minerva McGonagall (with the help of her *ahem* "friend" Pomona Sprout) schedules a Quidditch summer camp for young students from all houses. She invites former players Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Angelina Johnson, Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint to teach the kids Quidditch basics and assigns Charlie Weasley to watch over the whole operation in hopes of demonstrating how former enemies can work together.The "teachers" use their first night at the Bed & Breakfast for some heavy drinking away from her scolding eyes.What they hadn't bargained for: Enough firewhiskey can unearth even the best kept secrets...





	1. The Drinking

**Author's Note:**

> Just plain fun. With some tenderness. And swearing in between to make it bearable. 
> 
> Chapter 1: The Drinking  
> Chapter 2: The Game  
> Chapter 3: The Night pt.1  
> Chapter 4: The Night pt. 2  
> Chapter 5: The Next Morning

 

 

„Shhh!“  
„Be quiet!“  
“That’s my foot, Oliver!”  
“Oh sorry, my bad.”  
“Shhhhh!”

  
The giggling continued as they crept over the dark Quidditch Pitch. Harry looked around nervously, but the windows of the cosy Bed & Breakfast stayed black.  
“I don’t think anyone noticed us”, he whispered to no one in particular.

“Hard to believe with the noise you made. Did you _break_ open the liquor cabinet?”, Angelina whispered back, the scold lost because of her wide grin.  
“ _If_ there was a little crash it’s _your_ husband’s fault. He’s the one who taught me how to pick a lock.”, Ron said, filled with indignation. Before she could retort, Marcus interrupted: “’Course they noticed you plonkers, but they won’t say anything. Quidditch camp away from teachers and parents? Us gone, that’s all they waited for!”

Cho looked worried: “Maybe we should go back? Check on them? If Flint’s right...” She glanced at the others. Charlie seemed to think about it, then shook his head. “Nah, I think it’s fine. They won’t do anything too adventurous, with McGonagall and Sprout still in the house. Plus we stole all the alcohol.”, he said with a chuckle.

They rounded a corner and were finally out of sight. An old fire pit was stacked with fresh logs and a couple of mismatched sofas, arm chairs and mattresses were placed in a circle around it. They slumped down, dropping the bottles in front of them and sighing contentedly.  
“That’s what I’m talking about!”, Ron exclaimed as Charlie ignited the branches with his wand. Harry handed out bottles of butterbeer, but suddenly stilled.  
“Wait”, he looked around, counting the others, “didn’t we forget –“

“Me?”, came a stiff voice from behind them and Draco Malfoy stepped into the light. Oliver and Cho flinched, Ron groaned, Marcus and Charlie started to laugh. Harry however seemed downright crestfallen, immediately trying to apologize: “Merlin, sorry Malfoy, we didn’t – I mean yeah, we forgot to tell you, but just because –“  
“Stop rambling Potter, I know why you didn’t invite me. Just because I’m a Slytherin doesn’t mean”, Draco started, but Marcus interrupted him: “Not because you’re a Slytherin. I’m here, see?” “Because I was a Death Eater then, huh Flint?”, Draco hissed.

He stood next to a battered armchair, stiff as a board, in formal robes that showed just the hem of his silky pyjamas. Marcus and Charlie had another laughing fit which rendered Charlie’s answer completely unintelligible.  
“Why are you laughing?” Draco actually stomped his foot now. Only barely concealing a chuckle herself, Angelina threw a berating look at them and then said: “This has nothing to do with ...that. They are – oh pull yourself together, guys – just laughing because you look so. Um. Proper.” Charlie was holding his sides now and Marcus started to hiccup, both unable to stop. Draco looked as outraged as he looked confused.

“You look like you’re gonna put us in detention, mate.”, Oliver explained, “And your room is on another floor, that’s why we forgot. Just sit down, if you dare drink with us plebeians.”  
“Here”, Harry scooted over and indicated the seat next to him, “have a butterbeer. We really didn’t mean to exclude you.” Ron huffed, but was silenced by an elbow in his ribs. Draco seemed to consider storming off. Then, after a second, he sat down, careful to leave enough space between his and Harry’s knees.

“Now that we’re all assembled: To Quidditch camp booze-ups!”, Charlie said solemnly, raising his bottle. “May Minerva McGonagall sleep tight!”, Angelina added. All of them drank. “I think she might be too busy to sleep, though.”, Cho giggled.  
“So it’s true? Her and Sprout?”, Harry asked. Cho nodded.  
“Weird”, Ron muttered and took another sip.

“So, how’re you feeling about our young students? Any talents?”, Charlie inquired.  
“Most of mine are rubbish. I tried to teach them the Sloth Grip Roll – half of them crashed!”, Oliver said with clear disappointment.  
“Oliver!”, Angelina shouted, “this is a camp for _kids_! We’re trying to teach them basics and teamwork, not drill them into insanity!”  
“When McGonagall approached me she talked about Quidditch, not inter-house-unity-blah.”, Oliver insisted.

“Look around mate. Didn’t choosing this group of counsellors give you a hint?”, Charlie said.  
“You’re all adequate players.” Oliver still didn’t seem to get the point.  
“ _Adequate_ ”, Draco huffed, but Cho said: “We’re all from different houses with difficult pasts. She wanted to show them that we can work together.”  
“Duh”, Marcus grunted.  
“And so far it’s working out great”, Ron said, the sarcasm palpable in his voice. He looked at the two Slytherins.  
“Ey, I’ve been nothing but fine company”, Marcus responded.  
“Yeah? Haven’t you showed your kids at least four illegal fouls to block their opponents?” Marcus shrugged and said with a sly grin: “Which they have to work together for!” Charlie giggled.  
“Calm down Ron, we’re here to drink and relax. You can tell McGonagall tomorrow.”, Harry tried to intervene.  
“Snitches end up in ditches”, Charlie warbled. Ron shot him a furious glance.

For a while, only the clanking of bottles was audible over the crackling fire. Cho and Angelina were absorbed in their own conversation, something boring about the London real estate market. Marcus stared into the fire, from time to time sipping on his beer. Draco sat still. _Like carved out of marble,_ Harry thought. He wondered if Draco would feel as cold and smooth as he looked. _What? No! I don’t think about how he feels!,_ a panicked voice inside his head sounded. He tried to focus on his butterbeer but it was empty.

“I wonder what Hermione is up to at home”, Ron brought him back to reality.  
“Studying. It’s Granger, after all.” It was the first thing Draco had said since joining them.  
“What would  _you_ know about –“, Ron piped up, but Harry interrupted: “Merlin, chill, Ron. Everyone knows Hermione studies a lot. And by a lot I mean all the time.”

“Ready for round two?”, Charlie asked to diffuse the situation. He conjured shot glasses and handed them out, together with a bottle of firewhiskey.  
“The good stuff!”, Angelina whistled. Oliver seemed unsure. “I don’t know if I should. Practice starts at nine tomorrow...”, he muttered.  
“Don’t be such a wuss. You’ll put them through the mill either way!”, Marcus shouted. They raised their glasses.  
“To drinking while your husband watches the baby”, said Angelina and everyone laughed. Draco stifled his own outpour of happiness by quickly gulping the liquor down.

At once he started coughing. “Ah, the youngsters. Think they’re so cool.”, Charlie grinned and clinked his glass to Marcus’. Harry tapped Draco on the back, then immediately withdrew his hand as if it had betrayed him. Charlie looked at the two former enemies with slight surprise. Marcus seemed to find the interaction just as interesting, because he leaned over and whispered into the redhead’s ear.  
“Something you like to share with the group?”, Angelina asked with a raised eyebrow.  
“Nah, just old folk talk. You know, Bridge and knitting and stuff.”, Marcus replied with a nonchalant shrug.  
“Sure”, she said, suppressing a chuckle, “while the grandpas talk: What’s up with you guys? Any saucy stories? I haven’t heard anything non-diaper-related in months!”

No one was eager to be the first baring their secrets. “Don’t look at me, I’m in a perfectly adult relationship, nothing saucy there.”, Ron blurted out.  
“Yeah? Then what about those leather things on your bed?”, Harry teased. Ron blushed.  
“Where you rummaging through our stuff? Not cool, mate. And so what, we can try new stuff? That’s nothing compared to those rumours Rita Skeeter wrote about. Wasn’t it something about a certain Boy who lived and a muggle gay club...?” Now it was on Harry to blush.  
“First off, I did not go through your stuff. I was just fetching the sweater I forgot last time – you told me to get it!”, he defended himself.

“Does that mean the rumours are true?”, Charlie inquired. Harry stammered: “You know that bloody Skeeter, I just went to a um. Bar with Dean and Seamus and she made a whole deal out of it.”  
“You’re digging yourself a hole there, Potter.”, Marcus stated dryly.  
“No, I’m just – oh you guys are idiots”, Harry said in a resigned voice as everyone started laughing again. Everyone except Draco, who looked completely shell-shocked.  
“We should let Harry off the hook or his head explodes”, Angelina said sympathetically.  
“Oh come on, some classic gay rumours, that’s basically a rite of passage for any celebrity.”, Charlie pressed on. He filled his glass up again. “Anyone else?”, he asked. Seven hands shot into the air.  
“We might need something stronger for Potter though.”, Marcus grunted. He fumbled around in his pockets and withdrew a packet of cigarettes.

“Anyone?” He offered the pack. Oliver scoffed.  
“Oh I’m _sorry_ , anyone who’s not a pro athlete at the top of his game?”, Marcus responded sarcastically and added: “By the way, how’s life sitting on Puddlemere’s bench, Wood?” Charlie snorted into his drink.  
“Below the belt Flint, definitely below the belt”, Cho scolded him while Oliver tried to rearrange his shocked expression.  
“Don’t worry Cho, he’s only good at dishing out. But since you asked: It’s actually great, living my own dream as opposed to say...your parents’?”, Oliver shot back. Marcus flinched.

“Merlin, I’m so glad to be part of this inter-house-unity-party.”, Draco muttered under his breath, as both Marcus and Oliver jumped up, their wands drawn.  
“All right, everybody, calm down. Enough with the poking.”, Charlie ordered, standing in between them. “Marcus, put you wand away”, he said gently. Since nothing happened, he took a step forward and whispered something in the Slytherin’s ear. Marcus seemed ready to fight, but eventually composed himself and sat back down.

An awkward silence fell.

Harry noticed that Draco fiddled with his emptied glass. One long pale finger traced over the rim, producing a faint sound that was drowned out by some crashing logs. Harry looked at his own hands, the dark skin, the stout fingers. He imagined their hands next to each other, the stark contrast. If Draco were naked, he would probably glow in the moonlight.  
_For fucks sake, stop it!,_ the voice inside his head shouted. He glanced around, frightened anybody had seen his thoughts. For a brief moment, his eyes met Draco’s. He looked – surprised?  
_Oh no, he knows legilimency!_ But no, he was just being paranoid. Still, the way Draco now surveyed Harry’s hand...something was going on.

Over on the other side of the fire, Charlie still examined the rigid figure of Marcus Flint next to him.  
Marcus pretended not to care. _Don’t think about your parents,_ he thought bitterly. He knew it was on him, Oliver bringing them up.  
_Can’t just keep you fucking mouth shut, can you?_ , he argued with himself. And to think that he had actually looked forward to this weekend.

Teaching the kids Quidditch seemed kind of pointless, but getting away from his boring ministry job and hanging out with friends instead – well, _friend_ , singular. Charlie was his friend, especially since they had left school. Before that, the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor had always stood in the way: The Weasleys were practically poster boys for teaching young snakes how not to be. But Marcus had liked Charlie, his outdoorsy nature and the understated personality. And his dry humour. It had cost him some energy not to laugh about Charlie’s comments before a game and act hostile instead.

The others were okay too, he guessed, at least something to make fun of. And the whole Potter and Malfoy thing was actually interesting.  
He saw them exchange furtive looks every now and then. How they desperately tried to act natural – hilarious. Yeah, the trip might have been worth it after all. If only Charlie would stop staring at him like he was some sort of time bomb. He finally lit his cigarette – a new one, the first had fallen down when Oliver made that comment – and took a long drag.

Charlie leaned over to him and whispered: “Thanks for being the bigger man. If you want, we can put worms in Oliver’s shoes later.” He had lain his hand on Marcus’ own as he spoke. It was more of a reassuring touch, but Marcus was confused nonetheless. He peered down. What a weird sight, the scarred and rough palm on the back of his hand.  
He shook his head slightly and then nodded, now the one trying to act natural.

“Hey, I know we’ve come here to drink, but anyone up for a round of Quidditch? I haven’t played in ages.”, Angelina asked. Oliver’s face, still drawn in fury, lit up.  
“Sure, why not?”, Harry agreed, “You up, Draco?” He immediately regretted his question – why on earth did he use Malfoy’s first name?!  
_Maybe he doesn’t notice,_ he thought. Draco – judging by his bewildered expression – had noticed, but didn’t call him out for it.  
“I guess...”, he said slowly.  
“Four on four, then?”, Oliver asked, already jumping up to get the equipment from a nearby shed.

“I have to pass”, Charlie said. “My ribs had an unfortunate collision with Hargid’s old passion project.”, he explained.  
“Norberta!”, Ron snorted, “I’ve always told Harry and Hermione he’ll kill us with those beasts.”  
“Is that the dragon that brought me a night in the Forbidden Forest? Because McGonagall thought Harry could do no wrong?”, Draco asked. He said _Harry_ , Harry thought before correcting him: “No, you snitching brought you a night in the Forbidden Forest. And me. And Hermione and Neville. God, you were a prick.” Ron laughed.

“Guys, what about Quidditch? We can’t play four against three!”, Oliver tried to get back to the important stuff.  
“Count me out too, I’ve spent enough time on a broom today.”, Marcus settled the debate.  
Cho put up some additional charms so no one in the house could see them. Oliver meanwhile had grabbed enough equipment to host the World Cup and handed it out.  
“I call captain”, he shouted while putting on his keeper’s gloves.  
“Me too!”, Angelina quickly said, “and I get to choose first.” Before Oliver could argue, she pointed at Harry.  
“Unfair, but okay. I’ll take Cho.” She walked over to Oliver.  
“And I take Draco.” A wicked smile played around her lips. Charlie noticed it and gave her a secretive thumbs up.  
“Ron, you’re with me.”, Oliver said, completely oblivious.

“You should change up positions, make it more interesting.”, Marcus suggested, playing along, “Wood makes chaser with Ron, Cho as goalie. Same with Potter and Malfoy, Angelina can be keeper there. No snitch, you would never find it again.” Oliver protested, but the others were convinced – although Harry and Draco looked doubtful more than anything. The six rose into the air.

“You really think there’s something going on there?”, Marcus asked Charlie as they strolled back to the fire.  
“I guess we’ll see”, Charlie grinned, “another round?”


	2. The Game

 

 

Charlie poured two more glasses of firewhiskey.

“Thanks. We have to sit over there to _see_.” Marcus indicated the sofa where Angelina and Cho had sat before. As they flopped down on the battered old seat, he realised how much closer they were sitting now. Charlie’s sprawled out figure came dangerously close.   
_Don’t make such a big deal out of this and relax,_ Marcus urged himself. They had touched countless times before, slapping their backs in laughter, flicking their heads, hugging goodbye. Charlie was more of a touchy-feely-guy anyways. Or was he? He had never seen him hugging anyone else goodbye. But hey, they were mates. Nothing weird about that. _Just act normal_. Marcus tried to remember how _normal_ worked, slowly and deliberately rearranging his limbs so he looked relaxed. It was terribly uncomfortable.

Twenty yards away, the impromptu Quidditch match was about to start.   
“Okay men. This is it. The big one. The one we’ve all waiting for. This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years – we’re going to win!”, Angelina said in a mock solemn voice. Harry started to laugh, but Draco looked utterly confused.   
“It’s Oliver’s speech from back at Hogwarts. He gave it to us before every game.”, Harry explained.   
“Well, I’ve always known he’s a nutter.”, Draco mumbled, looking over at the other players.   
“Little bit obsessed, yeah.”, Harry agreed and Angelina added: “Just a tad. What did Flint say?” Draco seemed to suppress a chuckle and then said in a spot-on Flint impression that sounded more like a grunt: “Kill them or I’ll kill you.” Angelina and Harry exchanged shocked glances.

“What’s taking you so long?”, came Oliver’s voice from behind them.   
“Just taking a moment to appreciate having had you as a captain!”, Angelina shouted. They strolled over to Oliver, Ron and Cho. The Ravenclaw looked at her enormous gloves with some worry. “Alright, no fouls, we’ll play to 50 points, first one to get there wins this round.”, Oliver listed the rules.   
“First one to puke gets a free kick.”, Ron added. They chuckled and mounted their brooms. On their captain’s command, Harry and Draco rose into the air.   
“Stay together”, Angelina ordered them before she flew off to the goal posts.

Harry thought for a moment he saw her wink at Cho but had no time to process it because the game had started. Ron – one hand firmly gripping the red Quaffle – shot right through them with Oliver at his tail. Draco looked at Harry, clearly not knowing what to do. Harry shrugged, turned his broom around and chased after the two players. Angelina blocked Ron’s attempt at scoring and threw the ball to Draco, who almost dropped it.

It took them only five minutes to realise that their usual strategies would not help them one bit. Harry hadn’t waited for his fellow chaser and flown straight to the opposite goal and Draco had no chance of passing the Quaffle to him when Oliver blocked. Stay together, Angelina had said. Completely out of his comfort zone, Harry drew closer to Draco.   
“I’ll scare them and you go through!”, he shouted, speeding up and pretending to ram Oliver. The Gryffindor made a jolt to avoid the collision. Draco rushed passed them, aimed for the right goal and – scored.

“Yes!”, Harry yelled, catching up to him. Draco looked elated. They high fived in the air before noticing how weird this camaraderie was after years of loathing.   
_It’s nice to see him smile,_ Harry thought. Even after the war, his former enemy seemed to be in a constant bad mood. _Or maybe he’s just unsure? Not knowing if we’d accept him?_

The game continued. With each pass, they gained more confidence, anticipating the other’s moves and sabotaging Ron and Oliver. The cold night air in his face, Draco flying close to him – Harry felt light and content. Ron scored again, it was now 30 to 20 for Angelina’s team. Harry gritted his teeth, the Quaffle under his arm and advanced towards the goal. He could hear Draco right behind him. Cho hovered in front of the middle ring, so he pretended to aim for the right one while actually throwing to the left. It went through.   
“You feinted! Nice one!”, Draco said with admiration. Harry turned around, ecstatic now and, without thinking, hugged the Slytherin.

Right when they made contact, he noticed what he was doing. The rough shoulder patches didn’t take away from the bony but muscular physique and he felt smooth skin under his touch where Draco’s robes had slid up in the wind. He also smelled Draco for the first time: Clean and fresh, with some citrusy notes and a woody undertone. It fit perfectly. Harry caught himself breathing slowly and deliberately.   
_What am I doing? Smelling Draco? Get a fucking grip on,_ he thought desperately. He drew back, embarrassed now.

Was he being paranoid again or did Draco look just as surprised? Not only surprised but – dazed? It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but he definitely saw a flush creep over the pale face. They stared at each other. Harry opened his mouth to say words he hadn’t formed yet, when out of nowhere, Ron shot right at them, miscalculated his speed and crashed into Harry. Harry lost his grip, slipped from the broom and fell.

Before he could react, someone was over him, yanking on his arm. Draco panted heavily as they tumbled towards the grounds but managed to land without falling over. Shaking, they stood on the dark pitch.   
“You okay?”, Draco stammered, looking Harry up and down as if checking for injuries.   
“Yeah”, Harry muttered, “thank. Um. Thank you. You saved me.”   
“Had to return the favour one day”, Draco said with half a smirk. Images of fiery beasts, a cathedral in flames, rose before Harry’s eyes. And amidst the all-consuming flames the tiny crouched figure of his enemy. He looked up. Draco’s grin had turned into a shaky expression and he knew they were thinking of the same moment.   
“Thank you for saving me.”, Draco said in a low voice. Harry had the urge to hug him again, to tell him it was okay, that there was nothing to thank him for. Nothing to forgive. He settled for an awkward tap on the shoulder and said: “Hey, we’re even.”

“What’s going on over there?”, came Charlie’s voice from the fire pit. At the same time, Ron landed next to them.   
“Sorry mate, didn’t mean to – you okay?”, he said contritely.   
“Everything alright, thanks to Draco.”, Harry reassured him.   
“One minute break, everyone!” Angelina had flown over with the rest and now opened herself another butterbeer.

They gathered around the fire for a quick drink.   
“Playing chaser is hard!”, Oliver grumbled.   
“Hey, I’d gladly switch positions!”, Cho fired up, “these horrible gloves are way too big.”   
“No switching. I actually think it’s kind of fun – don’t you, guys?”, Angelina inquired, looking at Draco and Harry who after their strange little moment avoided standing too close to each other.

“Come here Cho, I can adjust the gloves. And don’t worry, we’ve been watching – you’re all equally bad. Like, real bad.”, Marcus said, gesturing at Cho to step closer. Without getting up, he tapped the glove with his wand.   
“At the wrist, too. No, there.”, Charlie explained. He guided Marcus’ hand to the right position. Angelina watched them with renewed interest.

“So, what’ve you guys been doing except for judging us?”, she asked with a raised eyebrow. Instead of a response, Marcus held up an empty bottle of firewhiskey.   
“And we moved over to the mattress. One of the sofa springs tried to pierce me.”, Charlie added. They really were slumped on an old mattress that had seen nothing but better days.   
“It’s also so much cosier, isn’t it?”, Angelina teased. Marcus seemed to blush and Charlie fumbled with a loose thread. Harry looked at them with surprise.  
“Alright, players, time to get back to the game!”, Oliver shouted. Angelina groaned. “Perfect timing, Oliver.”, she said sarcastically.

“Hey, Angelina”, Charlie grabbed her arm and held her back as the others trudged away. “Looks promising, doesn’t it?”, he whispered, nodding at Harry and Draco.   
“I love how they have no fucking clue.”, Marcus grinned.   
“Sure, _they_ are completely oblivious. Now let me go, I have to win a game. You lazy wankers just continue being absolutely useless.”, Angelina said, freeing her arm and following her team.

“Lazy? Absolutely useless?”, Charlie said with mock outrage in his voice. He gave her departing back the finger. Marcus had been surprised by her tone as well, but started to laugh now, pointing at Charlie’s rude gesture.   
“What’s going on with you?”, Charlie asked in surprise.

“Charlie, you _have_ to work on the whole flipping-off-thing. What you’re doing looks like...I don’t know, but really not cool.”, Marcus exclaimed.   
“What are you talking about?”, giggled Charlie, “what’s it supposed to look like?” Marcus turned to him and said with utter conviction: “More gangster! Or at least not like you’re 65! Come on, I’ll show you.” He sat up and crossed his legs. With a groan, Charlie followed suit. They were facing each other on the dingy mattress.

“Okay, teach me master.”, Charlie said. “You’re doing _this”_ Marcus retracted all his fingers except for the middle one and held them to his palm. Charlie nodded, trying it out for himself.   
“But you definitely want to put out your thumb and fold the others finger at the knuckle.”, Marcus explained, “here, I’ll show you.” Unthinkingly, he grabbed his friend’s hand, bending the fingers and holding them down.   
“You’re right! I do look gangster!”, Charlie said with delight, turning his hand to flip Marcus off.   
“But I don’t know if I could pull it off. Or even recreate when necessary. It’s usually not something you think about beforehand.”, Charlie mumbled. Marcus laughed: “You’ll get there. Maybe you have to practice in front of a mirror.” He still felt the calloused fingers, rough under his touch. An urge to come up with something, anything to take them again rose inside. Maybe there were some more rude gestures that needed refining? _Stop it now,_ he thought.

He looked up to see Charlie grinning at him. “That’s how _you_ did it, didn’t you? You practiced looking gangster? That’s so pathetic!”, he shouted, leaning over and jokingly punching Marcus in the ribs. Dazed from his half-formed thoughts and the renewed contact, Marcus muttered: “If you tell the others, I have at least ten cool looking and well-practised moves to knock you out.”   
“I would never! You could show them to me though!”, Charlie said conspiratorially. Images of him teaching the redhead close contact moves wreaked havoc in Marcus’ brain. In a desperate attempt not to reveal them, he picked up the bottle of firewhiskey and took a large gulp.

Charlie meanwhile lay down, flipping off the sky and still rearranging his fingers.   
_What do I do now? Lay next to him? Sit? Run away?,_ Marcus thought. After some fiddling, he sighed and let his body fall next to Charlie’s. He could feel his heart pounding, but the alcohol started to show its potential and he slowly relaxed. This was nice. Normal. Nothing more than a casual drink amongst friends. He had just been deprived of that experience before, with the Slytherins all being uber formal and correct. They stared at the starry night sky. A plane was flying above them.

“Have you ever been on a plane?”, Charlie asked beside him.   
“Nah, why would I be? I don’t know any wizard who has.”, Marcus answered, a slight slur to his voice.   
“Yeah, you’re right, me neither.”, Charlie said, “But I always wanted to know. Weird things.” Silence fell again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Marcus thought about planes and stars and drinking and Charlie. Charlie. How he was always making an effort to include him. Whispered in his ears which made Marcus feel special. Told him about those little wonderings – not really secrets, but still something that revealed his personality.

And how he touched him. Now that he thought about it, Marcus noticed that they did touch a lot. Not in a weird kind of way, but still. And – _could that be true?_ – Charlie always initiated it. _Maybe he thinks about it too?_ What if it left the same tingling sensation on his skin? But wouldn’t he have said something, _done_ something?   
_Should I do something?_ No, it was way too risky. Still, the urge to find out grew with every second.

“What are you thinking about?”, he asked to busy his brain with something other than groping his mate. Charlie sighed and mumbled: “Nothing, really. Just wondering...” He broke off. _Wondering what??,_ Marcus wanted to shout. It could be anything! What if it was – but what if it wasn’t? He could feel the mattress dip slightly and cocked his head. Charlie was looking at him, all tipsy and content. _Is that a fucking sign?  
_ “This is nice, you know?”, Charlie said. _What is THIS, for fucks sake?  
_ “Yeah...”, he said vaguely. _Great move. Tap yourself on the back for that one.,_ the voice in his head stated sarcastically. Charlie turned his gaze back towards the sky. He seemed to have an itch, because he lifted his arm and scratched his neck.   
“Bloody mosquitoes”, he muttered. He lowered the arm again, not onto his stomach but next to his body onto the mattress. His hand lay mere inches away from Marcus.

_This has to be a sign. Or doesn’t it?_ Marcus’ inner conflict intensified. He dreaded doing the wrong thing, potentially ruining their friendship forever and also doing nothing, potentially ruining everything that could have happened. Charlie sighed again.   
“It’s getting colder”, he said. _What do you want me to do?! Just tell me!_ Marcus thought about a witty comeback, but his brain was emptied of all cleverness. He gave a non-committal grunt. _Now or never. Just fucking do it._ Yeah. He had to. He had never in his life been so fucking nervous. Why didn’t his hand lie on the mattress? Why did it have to be on his stomach? It would have been so easy to just slide it over. He could have made it look like an accident, depending on the reaction. But now – he lifted his right hand.

_Please don’t shake. Please don’t shake._ To hell with flipping people off: _This_ is what he should’ve been practising in front of a mirror. Two fingers twitched slightly. At least no shaking. He thought about pretending to grab something as an excuse, then decided against it. His hand moved in slow motion, inch by inch, reducing the space between them. He braced himself for impact, still fixedly staring at the stars. Totally nonchalant. Charlie took a deep breath as if starting to talk and Marcus froze.   
_No no no, not now._ But what if he had noticed his friend’s pathetic attempts and wanted to stop him before it was too late? Marcus held his breath. Charlie shivered under a breeze. _Well, too late starts now._

And Marcus lowered his hand, praying to the gods, until he felt warm skin.   
His fingertips skimmed over a smooth part, he could feel the faint pulsating of a vein. Wrist. They traced along the base of Charlie’s thumb, over to the other fingers. He didn’t know what to do so he just continued stroking blindly, letting himself touch every scar and bump and just hope it would go well.   
_He must have noticed by now._ Indeed, Marcus could hear his mate’s breath still.   
_Should I say something?_ He didn’t. Marcus’ fingers had reached the end of Charlie’s hand.   
_What now?_ Retract. Save what could be saved and play it off as a drunk mishap.

But just as he lifted his hand again, Charlie’s fingers grabbed his and pulled them back down. A warmth flooded through Marcus that had nothing to do with the firewhiskey. Without looking, they interlaced their fingers.

Marcus couldn’t help but smile at the sky.

 


	3. The Night pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five chapters, just a quick lighthearted fic. Haha. I'm guessing six to seven chapters now, hopefully.  
> And I really tried to keep it short! Stupid ol' me.

 

 

Up in the air, Harry and Draco just celebrated their winning score by giving each other a particularly awkward thumbs-up. Angelina raced towards them, intensifying the embarrassment when she hugged them at the same time. Harry’s hovering hand over Draco’s shoulder was painful.  
“We did it!”, their captain shouted, at the same time sticking her tongue out to Oliver, who was looking downright floored.

They landed on the pitch and Cho flung her gloves off.  
“How about a shot to soften the blow, Oliver?”, she asked pitifully.  
“Anything to make me forget.”, he answered. Ron stepped off his broom and stumbled. Harry saw a slight greenish tinge creep up on his face.  
“You alright, mate?”, he asked, grabbing Ron’s shoulder to stabilize him. The others came trudging over as well, Angelina and Cho exchanging a worried glance.

“I don’t feel that –“ Harry assumed he was trying to say _well,_ which became obvious as he substituted the word for a sickening gargling sound, then bent over to puke all over the grass.  
“Time for bed, I see.”, Angelina ordered, “Oliver, you can stow away the brooms, Cho, you inform the wasters over there – and tell them to clean up – Harry, Draco, you better bring Ron inside. I’ll make sure McGonagall’s not going to find out.” Ron seemingly wanted to protest, but since he couldn’t even stand up right, he gave up.

Harry looked around for Draco and saw him standing there, watching the scene with an almost comical expression of utter disgust. When he noticed Harry’s raised eyebrows, he stammered: “What? Me? No, why can’t the others...? Come on, he doesn’t even want my help!” Ron grunted in agreement and immediately gagged again.  
“Don’t make such a fuss, grab his other shoulder!”, Harry said, rolling his eyes. Draco sighed. Hitching up his sleeves, he stepped over to the Gryffindors. He held Ron’s shoulder with three outstretched fingers and avoided breathing through his nose. Harry couldn’t help but laugh: “You pretentious prick, do it right!” They hoisted Ron’s arms over their shoulders and he immediately slumped down, now hanging in between them like a sack of stones.  
Particularly repulsive stones, judging by Malfoy’s expression.

“Wait, Cho, maybe you secure our way and I tell the others.”, Angelina said to Cho while glancing over to the fire. The carelessly stacked up pallets that served as burning material and protection from unwanted eyes blocked her view. Instead of alerting them, she sneaked closer, stopped and listened. No sound except for the crackling of the fire. She carefully looked around the corner: Charlie and Marcus were lying on the old mattress they sat on before, staring into the sky. With a grin, Angelina noticed they were holding hands.  
“Adorable old wankers, time for a surprise.”, she mumbled to herself while filling her lungs with air. Just as she was about to rudely interrupt the romance, a much more frightening voice sounded.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” McGonagall came hurrying over the pitch and even though she could not see it, Angelina knew her mouth was nothing but a stern line.  
“Shit shit shit”, she whispered, turning left and right for an escape. Behind her, she could hear the fumbling and rummaging of two people trying to hide evidence. Oliver at the broom shack attempted to blend into some bushes, but the three figures on the field were unable to move an inch. They were busted.

McGonagall merely glanced at Ron, Draco and Harry as she neared Angelina.  
“Miss Johnson – I mean Mrs. Weasley – would you care to explain? It is one o’clock in the morning! Mr. Weasley looks like he’s eaten all of your husband’s products! Where is the head counsellor?” Even while talking, her mouth seemed sown shut.  
“I’m here, Professor.”, came Charlie’s voice from behind them and he stepped around the pallet cover. That didn’t explain anything, but the whole story wasn’t hard to piece together. Charlie blushed under McGonagalls scolding look.  
“I’m sorry, Professor. We. Um. Just came here to hang out and play some Quidditch.”, he stammered and Marcus – now appearing as well – added: “Practice. You know, for the kids.”  
“Don’t take me for a fool, Mr. Flint. You reek of firewhiskey! And you don’t want to tell me Mr. Weasley’s impression of a ghoul is the result of a training accident, do you?”, she now addressed the Slytherin. Marcus sheepishly shook his head. Angelina had to suppress a giggle.

“We’re really sorry. I know it got out of hand – like, really out of hand”, Charlie said, gesturing at the empty bottles, “but we just meant to let loose a little. Talking about old times, you know. We better clean up now.”  
“That is a good idea, Mr. Weasley.”, suddenly sounded a new voice. Professor Sprout, unnoticed by either of them, had joined the round.  
“And then I think you should all go to bed. We have a lot planned for tomorrow!”, she said gently.  
“Pomona, these young people have –“, McGonagall piped up in protest, but Professor Sprout lay a calming hand on her shoulder: “Minerva, I know – and they know – they crossed a line, but isn’t that what we intended with this camp? For them to work together and get along, regardless of their past? You remember what it was like back in our days. Haven’t you once broken into the zoo after a night out? Let’s not judge them too harshly.” Angelina made big eyes while Charlie looked at their old Herbology teacher with immense gratitude. They awaited McGonagalls verdict. She seemed to struggle with herself.

At last, she nodded at her old friend and said slightly friendlier: “Alright, this one time I’ll see past your poor actions. Now, as Pomona said, you should clean up now and go to bed. And you better deliver tomorrow. I will tell Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy to look after Mr. Weasley until he feels better.” She spared them one last reprimanding look and turned around. Professor Sprout followed her, winking at the astonished trio.  
“That was...”, Charlie started, clearly at a loss for words.  
“so much better than expected.”, Angelina finished his sentence, the surprise still visible on her face.  
“The banging’s made her soft.”, Marcus stated dryly. The tension broke as they all started to laugh. With Oliver joining them now it was safe, they began collecting their rubbish.

Harry and Draco had been too far away to hear the conversation but still picked up on the essentials.  
“I think we’re good.”, Harry whispered as the two Professor approached them. Draco’s face twisted and he grabbed Ron – who had slowly slipped further and further down while they were standing there – more tightly, yanking him back up.  
“ _Good_ is not the word I’d use.”, he grumbled. McGonagall arrived, Sprout in tow.  
“As we’ve discussed with your friends, you are to go to bed immediately. There will be no more sneaking out at night and I expect your presence at breakfast tomorrow morning. As for Mr. Weasley: Pomona, what would you reckon, a bucket and bed rest? Or does he need to see a healer?”, she cut straight to the point.  
“He’s fine Professor, just had a little too much butterbeer. We’ll”, Harry shot Draco a daring glance, “look after him.” Professor Sprout examined Ron, carefully avoiding the puddle on the field, and nodded.  
“More like firewhiskey, but I think you’re right. You two should keep a close eye on him though.”, she said firmly. Professor McGonagall gave them a curt nod and the two women left.

“Shall we, then?”, Harry asked Draco, who was muttering something unintelligible to himself.  
“I guess.”, the Slytherin grumbled. They slowly made their way to the Bed & Breakfast, from time to time stumbling under the added weight.

Warm light greeted them at the entry. They were already panting, because Ron seemed unable to take even a single step, and the prospect of manhandling him up three flights of stairs was daunting. Harry looked at the staircase, unsure whether he should suggest the easier alternative.  
“Your room is on this floor, isn’t it? Maybe we should...” His voice trailed off. Draco, catching on, widened his eyes.  
“Bring him into my room? So he can puke all over my stuff?”, he protested, vigorously shaking his head. Harry sighed. His right foot was already on the first step when Draco gave in: “Alright. But _you_ make sure he doesn’t touch anything.” Slightly relieved, they headed through an accompanying door and towards a single room at the end of the hall. They had to tilt sideways to fit through the door.

Finally at their destination, Harry complemented Ron on the cosy bed, with Draco frantically removing all his personal belongings in a three yard radius and throwing them into his trunk. Harry stretched his sore muscles, then flopped down at the foot of the bed. Draco, who had at last secured the perimeter, gingerly sat down next to him. In the upcoming silence, they could hear the low groans from Ron shifting into snores.  
“Well, that was a waste of time.”, Draco stated in a disgruntled voice. Harry looked at him, his eyebrows raised: “Really? I think it was a nice evening – without that last part, of course.” _And I saw you smile,_ he wanted to add. Draco snorted.

“If you say so. Now, since you so rudely stole my room, I will have to sleep in yours – if you excuse me.” He made to get up, but Harry reached out and grabbed his arm.  
“What? And what about me?”, he asked. Did Draco insinuate they’d sleep in his and Ron’s room _together?_ Panic and an excitement he couldn’t place twisted his insides.  
“You stay here and make sure he doesn’t die, of course.”, Draco responded, thus replacing the excitement with indignation.  
“No way! McGonagall told both of us to take care of him! You stay!”, he said.  
“And you go to sleep? Not going to happen!”, Draco shouted. On the bed, Ron flinched at the loud noises, but didn’t wake up.  
“Fine. I guess we both stay then.”, Harry tried to compromise.

Draco looked like he was going to argue. He glanced around the room as if hoping it would provide him with some solid arguments. Harry waited, fascinated by the inner struggle playing on Draco’s face. Even with the tousled hair and flushed cheeks, he displayed an almost regal grace. _Maybe one of his ancestors was a veela?,_ Harry wondered. Then he made a mental note to never ever (ever!) ask that question. Coming to the conclusion that he had lost, Draco sat down beside him again.

They were now settled as far apart on the single bed as humanly possible. Harry could feel his left ass cheek going numb already but didn’t dare to move it fully onto the mattress.  
_What if he thinks I’m shuffling closer?_ He stayed therefore, trying to ignore his protesting limbs. This was going to be a long night.

 

The others had done an acceptable job of removing the corpus delicti around the fire place and were wandering over the empty pitch. Oliver yawned heartily. Cho, who had failed miserably at keeping the teachers away and apologised at least ten times, trudged alongside Angelina.  
“I’m off to bed. Thought I’d get some sleep without the baby, but well.” Angelina waved at them and headed up the stairs.  
“Me too. At least I’m not as wasted as Ron. You think he’s alright?”, Cho said in a low voice.  
“Sure he is, except for that hangover tomorrow.”, Charlie reassured her.  
“Getting sick with no regards to important developments - if you ask me, he did it on purpose.”, Marcus added.  
“What developments?”, Oliver asked, then seemed to change his mind, “Never mind, I actually don’t care. Night, you all.” And he followed Cho.

They had arrived on the third floor. The sound of a door being closed was the only thing breaking the silence. Charlie looked at Marcus. Their rooms lay on opposite sides of the hall. Marcus raised an eyebrow. The silence grew longer.  
“My room’s this way.” Charlie made a vague gesture to the right. Marcus didn’t respond.  
“Would you. Um. I mean. Hell, you want to come with?”, Charlie stammered, blushing.  
“Thought you’d never ask”, Marcus answered with a confident grin that did in no way resemble what was going on inside his head.

 _Fuck, okay. Stay calm. Everything’s fine. Just casual,_ he urged himself as they neared the door. Maybe they would have a nice drink. Maybe they would talk a little more. Maybe, only maybe they would make out. Nothing out of the ordinary. Still, when they arrived at the room, all those rational thoughts boiled down to a panicked _I haven’t even shaved_ in Marcus’s head.

Charlie opened and let Marcus go in first. Then he closed the door behind them. They were alone.

“Another drink?”, Charlie offered to pass the awkwardness.  
“Yes. Definitely. Yes.”, Marcus agreed with relief. He sat down on the twin bed while Charlie fumbled with some bottles over at the little bar. _Oh god, do I smell?_ He frantically sniffed his armpits and pondered casting a quick cleaning smell over his crotch – because there was just no way he could inconspicuously sniff that – when Charlie turned back around, two filled glasses in hand. Marcus jerked up and thanked the gods he hadn’t been caught with his wand in his pants. Nose in armpit was bad enough. To his immense relief, Charlie seemed nervous as well – the amber liquid trembled as he handed out the glass. Charlie slumped down next to Marcus and took a sip.

“What do you think is going on with the boys?”, Marcus asked. Charlie chuckled.  
“I have no clue. I thought everything was going the right direction, before my idiot brother decided to ruin it. Now they’re either stuck there with him or in different rooms.”  
“Fuck, I’d really like to know.”, Marcus said, taking another gulp and coughing as the whiskey burned down his throat.  
“How bloody clueless they were though!”, he added. They stilled, both of them realising at the same time how similar their situation was. _Oh god, why did I have to bring it up?,_ Marcus thought, trying to come up with a completely unrelated subject.

Charlie took the opposite route: “I guess we can kind of relate to them?”, he said with a wonky smile. Marcus groaned.  
“So you really want to talk about it?”, he asked, not sure what answer to hope for. Charlie replied: “No no, we can pretend nothing’s happening and be awkward for a lot longer. Your call, really.” This earned him a shocked look from Marcus, who sighed and said: “Now you ruined it. Why do you have to be so mature?” Charlie chuckled and waited. Burying his face in his hands – there was no rule telling him to be mature as well – Marcus went on: “Yeah okay. Talk about it. Fuck. I’m into you, alright? Happy now?”

Peeking through his fingers, he could see the Gryffindor’s face light up, an almost mischievous grin playing around his lips.  
“Very. Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Flint.”, he exclaimed. Marcus dropped his fleshy shield from reality and rolled his eyes.  
“I. Um. Am also quite interested. Have been for a while, if you want to know.” The blush came creeping back up on Charlie’s face as his pretend certainty crumbled.  
_For a while?,_ Marcus thought half surprised, half elated.

“Kay. Great. Now that confession’s over – what do we do?”, he asked.  
“Don’t look at me like that! I don’t know! I’ve never done this either!”, Charlie exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.  
“Really? Never?”, Marcus inquired, now too interested to be embarrassed. Charlie shook his head and mumbled into his drink: “You’re right, that talking thing was a mistake.” With a grin, Marcus replied: “Nah, I’m enjoying it now.” Charlie seemed to think for a moment.  
“Okay, I tell you what: You’ve never done it, I’ve never done it, we did the awkward thing – like, a lot of it – could we move on now?”, he finally said in a calmer voice.

The question of what to move on _to_ remained however and Marcus was not willing to answer it. _Not sure the awkward thing is going to pass,_ he thought. He already did the hand thing. Job well done. Now Charlie had to come up with something.  
His mate looked around the room, then said: “Right. Okay. You know, I’m going to sit on the bed-“, he scooted over, kicking his shoes off in the process, and leaned against the wooden headboard, “and you’re going to. Um. Get rid of your clothes.” He grinned.  
“Come on, keep it moving.”, he added with false sincerity at the look of shock on Marcus’ face. Marcus really _really_ didn’t want to go first but arguing about that seemed childish.  
_No going back now,_ he thought. _And I only have to take off my shirt._ That was manageable. If only barely.

He carefully put the empty glass on the night stand and got up. Charlie smiled at him. Marcus opened the zipper on his jacket, doffed it, grabbed the hem of his shirt and stilled. _If I do this – ugh, what the hell._ Charlie’s fixed stare urged him to keep going. He brought the shirt over his head, then slid it off. Now he was standing there – _like a bloody fool –_ bare chested in the middle of the night in his best friend’s room, about to cross a line he’d never thought to cross. He clutched the crumpled-up fabric as if it was his virginity.  
“Toss it!”, Charlie said gleefully. Not looking at him, Marcus let it fall to the ground. _Awkward,_ he thought. He had never been so far out his comfort zone.

He risked a glance. Charlie still smiled – _if he claps, I’m out of here –_ sat up and took off his sweater. Well, now they were at least both fools. Charlie gestured at Marcus to come closer. The Slytherin kicked off his shoes, then bent down to pull off his socks, too.  
_Not making this mistake,_ he thought.  
_Yeah, the socks are what made this weird,_ a sarcastic voice in his head added dryly. He got onto the bed.

They were facing each other, Charlie against the headboard, Marcus kneeling in front of him. They exchanged a helpless look. _Two bloody fools._ The situation was so absurd, Marcus couldn’t help but laugh. Charlie joined in, both laughing at their own awkwardness.  
“It’s so weird!”, Charlie exclaimed.  
“I know! Merlin I’m glad you think so too.”, Marcus said relieved, then added – because if everything was going down, why not be honest?, “I’m glad it’s you.” They smiled at each other.  
“That was my whole plan, by the way. Didn’t think any further.”, Charlie admitted.  
“Well, just wing it?”, Marcus said with a shrug. The shared embarrassment made him slightly more confident. _At least it’s going to be a fun story._ Albeit one he could never tell anyone, what a waste.

With a questioning look at his friend, he stretched out his arm and touched his bare chest. Goosebumps erupted on his upper body and Charlie shivered. Marcus was fascinated. Never before had he allowed himself to just explore another man’s body like this. His fingers trailed down to the belly button, circled it, came back up and brushed over a nipple. He leaned in closer to see all the little scars years of working with dragons had left on Charlie and touched every single one of them. A whole bunch of them graced the ribs, some faint and plain, others protruding. One – on the shoulder – looked like a small bird. He traced its white wings to where it faded into the smooth skin on Charlie’s neck.

Marcus stilled for a second, watching the Adam’s apple bop as its owner swallowed. Then he glanced up. Charlie had watched him, all pretend joke gone. They looked into each other’s eyes. Marcus noticed how close they were. He could feel Charlie’s breath on his face. Without looking away, he brought his fingers up to the jaw, stroking it until he could feel the thick, red hair. He brushed a strand behind Charlie’s ear and stopped. _Now._ He lowered his head. Their eyes were still fixed at each other.

Bracing for impact, his head emptied of all thoughts, Marcus closed his eyes and kissed Charlie.


	4. The Night pt. 2

 

 

In the small single room that bore the number four, Harry thought about Draco’s lips while trying not to stare at them. The defined cupid’s bow, the pale pink skin, the slightly upturned corners that turned into a mischievous, wicked grin whenever he smiled.   
Which he seldom did, granted, but that just made it more special. And it tickled Harry to say something, do something to bring it out.

Draco, who had been staring at his hands for the last silent minutes, looked up. Harry quickly averted his eyes and pretended to study the flowery tapestry. Which was why he didn’t see Draco’s hand coming when it tapped him on the arm. He jerked around.   
“This is bloody boring!”, the Slytherin whispered.   
“Well, yeah, I guess, but what can we do?”, Harry answered, slightly disappointed about the topic. The well-studied lips were far away from a smile, as Draco disgruntedly shrugged his shoulders.   
“I mean, we can talk?”, Harry carefully suggested. He got an annoyed huff as a response. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back towards the wallpaper.

It took only ten seconds, then Draco gave in: “Fine, what do you want to talk about?” Not expecting this turn of events, Harry’s thoughts started to race.   
_Nothing weird! Don’t suggest anything weird!,_ he urged himself. Nothing about their past, that was way too intense and unlikely to produce a light-hearted conversation. Nothing too personal or deep, if he didn’t want to scare Draco off immediately. And nothing – _nothing! –_ even somehow related to Draco having Veela ancestors.

The man next to him coughed slightly. _Oh god, I’ve been thinking too long,_ Harry realised. But he hadn’t reached a conclusion yet! And if he didn’t say anything, that would make it even weirder. But what? _No Veela stuff!  
_ “Um. Do you. I mean. You like butterbeer?”, he spluttered, his cheeks a deeper shade of crimson than the damn flowers on the wall. Draco looked utterly bewildered. Harry tried twisting his face into a nonchalant, albeit interested position. As if that question wasn’t a total train wreck. Which it was. Maybe the Veela thing would have been better.

After a second’s hesitation that probably bore more from wondering if Harry had gone mental than sorting out his beverage preferences, Draco said: “Yeah. I mean, it’s hot and creamy and has alcohol in it, everybody likes it.”   
He thought about it, then added: “You know what? I actually don’t like it. It’s way too sweet. And it comes in those awful huge jugs that have these thick rims. So you can’t just take a normal sip and set it down. No, you have to lift the thing up as if you’re feeding pigs with a bucket and then be uber careful not to spill the whole thing because there’s like a liter of it and tip it ever so slightly – which again, hard to be precise when you’re manhandling a tankard – and it leaves the frothy stuff on your face. It also has no depth in flavour whatsoever, just hitting you with a load of sugar and cream. So after careful consideration, I’d say that butterbeer is awful. Just awful.”   
Harry’s mind had shut off after hearing Draco say _hot and creamy_ and he didn’t even realise the other had stopped talking until a pair of perfectly arched eyebrows, raised in question, brought him back to reality.   
“What? I guess. Yeah. Pitcher. Too sweet. Good point.”, he managed to stammer.

Maybe Draco had already booked him under complete nutter, because he didn’t comment on this behaviour, instead asking: “Okay, my turn now. Do you like being famous? Now that everyone thinks you’re a hero?” Harry, who had regained some control over his thoughts, chuckled.   
“I hate it.”, he admitted.   
“What, why?”, Draco inquired curiously.   
“Let’s see: Nobody is honest to me, except for my old friends and maybe Kingsley. I have no social life, I can’t even go to a pub without everybody going crazy. People only want to talk about the war or ask inappropriate questions regarding personal...stuff – and it doesn’t matter if I answer, it’s going to show up in the Prophet regardless! And now I have this hero status and no fucking clue about how to live up to it!”

Harry had talked himself into a desperate rage, gesturing wildly, even throwing his hands into the air. Draco seemed half amused.   
“Yeah, must be so hard, people loving and admiring you. I totally relate. As a former Death Eater, everyone is, too, camping outside my apartment to get my autograph.”, he said in a sarcastic voice.   
“Ugh, fuck you.”, Harry grunted. Draco’s eyes widened, but his tone became gentler as he replied: “Merlin, have a sense of humour, I didn’t mean it like that. I get it, okay? I’m sorry it’s been hard on you, I know you didn’t ask for it. Even if I thought so back in school.”   
“You did? Is that why you were such a prick?”, Harry asked.   
“No, I thought you loved the attention _and_ I was a prick.”, Draco chuckled. That finally calmed Harry down enough to relax and join in the laughter.

“You should have seen your face!”, Draco giggled, “As if I had insulted your mother or –“ Realising what he had said, Draco stopped so abruptly Harry thought he’d been hit by a paralysing curse.   
“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to -”, he babbled, looking mortified. Harry lay his hand on Draco’s shoulder in a reassuring manner – totally not to justify touching him – and said: “Don’t worry. If we were trying to avoid all these land mines, there wouldn’t be anything to talk about, would there?” Draco buried his face in his hands and groaned: “I’m so bad at this!”   
“Nah, you’re not. Hey, at least I’m certain nothing of this conversation makes it into the paper!”, Harry tried again.   
“You wish. But who do you think told Skeeter about the gay bar?”, Draco said wickedly, dropping his hands.

It took Harry at least ten seconds to get the joke. Enough time for those wild and unformulated thoughts – that all somehow involved Draco’s lips – to wreak havoc in his brain.   
_Oh my fucking god, calm down! He just said it because the others teased me about it!_ He tried to shake off the excitement. _Hot and creamy._ No no no! _Gaaaaayyyyyy._ Maybe he needed a cold shower. Or another broom crash. _He’s right, I’m completely mental._

Someone stirred on the bed.   
They turned around to see what was going on. Ron’s eyes fluttered half open. He still looked rather sick and the slighted movement intensified his green tinge, but he still managed to mumble: “You’re so fucking gay for each other.” A moment of deafening silence followed this statement. Harry didn’t dare to move. Draco had stopped breathing.   
But before either of them could even attempt to defuse the situation – not that Harry knew how – Ron leaned over the bed and hurled into an old bucket.

 

Three flights of stairs above them, _gay for each other_ was on full display.

Marcus’ mouth had wandered over Charlie’s face and found his ear. He nibbled on the ear lobe while his hand trailed down the scarred torso. Reaching the waistband, he stilled for a moment, then moved it further down. A muscular thigh, trembling slightly with anticipation. He traced the in seam from the knee, higher and higher, until – a sharp intake of breath told him that he had arrived at the crotch. Not that he needed the reminder. The thick denim was stretched tightly over Charlie’s boner. Marcus grinned as he cupped it, waiting for a reaction. Charlie groaned and bucked his hips into the grip.

“Pants?”, Marcus asked in a low voice.   
“Pants!”, Charlie agreed instantly. They sat up, the Gryffindor unbuckling his belt and shoving down the jeans. After some fumbling, they were off. He glanced at Marcus with a questioning look: “Briefs too?”   
“Sure, why not. Our friendship is ruined anyways.”, Marcus said carelessly and they both chuckled.

“If you laugh, I’ll kill you.”, Charlie warned him, doffing the last barrier.   
“Nothing to laugh about, from where I’m standing.”, Marcus said with a low whistle, “Your mother can be proud.” His examination of Charlie’s impressive junk was rudely interrupted by its owner punching him in the ribs.   
“Don’t you dare ruin this by talking about my mother!”, he exclaimed.   
“Yeah, no, sure, but remind me to send her a thank-you card tomorrow.”, Marcus continued, this time dodging the fist. Then he swung a leg over Charlie, straddling him while bending down and sucking his neck to end the argument.

His lips slowly made their way down, following the invisible trail his fingers had marked earlier. Charlie writhed under his weight as he circled the belly button and grabbed his hair with one hand. The other jerked up to cover his face and, one moment later, to bite into, stifling a moan. Marcus took a second, just revelling in the sight of his friend’s ecstasis and, okay, trying to figure out how to do this next step.   
_Just take it in your mouth. And then maybe suck it? Hope you don’t get lockjaw?_ He licked the penis from base to tip, then took the head into his mouth.   
“Fuuuuuck. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”, came Charlie’s pressed voice from the top of the bed and the hand clutched tightly at his black strands.

Marcus jolted up: “Fuck good or fuck bad? Did I hurt you?” Charlie grinned at him, still panting.   
“Fuck very good. Better than good. Awesome. Really, couldn’t be better. I actually think I’ve never been better.”, he said.   
“Okay, good. I still don’t know what I’m doing, just so you know.”, Marcus muttered.   
“You’re a natural.” Charlie’s attempt at sounding sincere made them both laugh again.   
“Fucker.”, Marcus mumbled, still giggling as he turned back to his project.

He tried navigating his way up and around the cock by listening to Charlie’s groans and quickly settled into a pace that felt rather natural. Almost weirdly natural, considering he had never done this before.   
The occasional _fuck_ from Charlie guided him right to the finish line.   
He noticed the muscles beneath him tensing up. Charlie’s panting became ragged, he bit down on his wrist, his eyes screwed shut as Marcus sucked his cock in deeper than before. Then, just seconds away, his breathing stopped altogether, the only thing he heard the rushing of blood in his ears – and he came.

Marcus, who had noticed the signs, was still surprised as the hot liquid hit his throat. He reflexively swallowed half of it before releasing the penis and spitting the rest onto the next piece of fabric he could find.   
“Mate, that tastes disgusting!”, he exclaimed while wiping his mouth with Charlie’s briefs.   
“I’m...sorry?”, Charlie mumbled, not able to suppress the satisfaction. Marcus flopped down next to him, propped up on one elbow. It took his friend at least a minute to collect himself, turn around and open his eyes.   
“Okay, I think my oxygen levels are stabilising, so: Sorry, really. I should have warned you.”, he apologised more sincerely this time.   
“Nah, it’s all good. Was just really weird. So bitter and salty!”, Marcus said. They looked at each other with a mixture of self-consciousness and contentment.

“So...”, Marcus started, unsure where to go from there.   
“Yeah.”, Charlie agreed.   
“Okay, what the hell. I fucking loved that. You should try that for yourself, it’s brilliant. Ten out of ten would recommend.”, he then added. Marcus grinned.   
“Never thought I’d be complemented on my blow job skills, but I’ll take it.”, he said, still smiling, “what now? I’m pretty sure you have to come up with something next.”   
Charlie thought about that for a moment, then said: “I mean, so far this. Um. Experiment? Is going great, don’t you think? You up for some more kinky stuff?” He glanced questioningly at his mate, who shrugged.   
“Sure, why not? What’re you suggesting?”, Marcus agreed.   
_How much kinkier can this get? This is already so far out there!,_ he thought, trying to stay calm.

Charlie seemed nervous as well, because he coughed a little before mumbling: “You could. Um. I don’t know, fuck me? If you like? I mean”, he blushed, “not that you have to. It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I just thought...” His voice trailed off. The prospect of doing _this_ so soon both scared and excited Marcus.   
_I mean, I can do sex. I did it before, after all,_ he argued in his brain. _But what if there’s more to it? Some kind of prep? Special tools? What the hell am I doing?_  
He must’ve looked rather helpless and Charlie lay a warm hand on his chest, despite being rather unsure himself.   
“Um, yeah. No, I’d totally like to. Um. Fuck you, but I have really no clue. Like, none at all. Do you?”, Marcus finally said. Charlie shook his head.

They both started laughing, only stopping when Marcus – his ribs hurting – rolled into Charlie’s arms and buried his face into the mattress. Charlie reached over him with the free arm and pulled him closer.   
“We’re such bloody idiots.”, Marcus told him through a mouth full of linen. He could feel Charlie’s answering laugh at his back.   
It was nice. Warm and cosy, the smooth skin against his own, the muscular arms holding him. At this moment, they were probably an embarrassment to the straight, the gay and every other community out there, but he didn’t care very much. Because it was Charlie. Because he didn’t pressure Marcus into doing anything. Because he was just as much a fool as he was.

“Okay, let’s do this”, he said therefore, sitting back up. Charlie followed suit.   
“I’m pretty sure lube is essential. And maybe not starting with your penis?”, he tried to mark their route.   
“Wow, teach me master. That’s all you got? I’m telling you, in twenty minutes we have to wake up Sprout and explain to her how you got hurt.”, Marcus said in a sarcastic tone.   
“Come on, how hard can it be? Maybe you’re a natural at this, too!”, Charlie said with false confidence.

Marcus wasn’t.   
Still, after twenty injury free minutes of shuffling around and doing weird prepping shit, they were ready to go.   
_Licking another guy’s ass, who would have thought. And I figured this week was gonna be boring.,_ Marcus wondered while reappearing from between Charlie’s legs.   
“You want to stay like this?”, he asked. Charlie lay on his back, knees in the air, with his butt propped up on a pillow for additional support. They found themselves rather genius for the pillow idea but had also agreed on hiding it from the Inn keeper the next morning. That poor woman. _Thank god this is Charlie’s room,_ Marcus thought.   
Charlie nodded at his question, then brought his feet up on Marcus’ shoulders. For easier access, so to say.

“You tell me if it hurts!”, Marcus impressed upon his mate. He bent down to kiss him – with all the new stuff they were trying, everything that had seemed outrageous only hours ago was now completely natural.   
_Who cares about kissing a guy when you’re about to put your...well. Too late now._

He lined his cock up with Charlie’s ass and gently pushed forward.   
The lube had been a great idea. Inch by inch, giving them both time to adjust to every move, he slid in further. He could see that Charlie was uncomfortable at first. But whenever it became too much, he would press on Marcus’ hand and they stilled.   
Now that the whole penis was settled inside him, he started to relax.

“Fucking hell, this is so tight! I mean oh my god! Is it okay for you?”, Marcus asked.   
“Totally okay. Feels kinda nice, actually. I think you passed the prostate, that was...new. In a good way. You ready to start moving?”, Charlie responded.   
Marcus smiled at him, more at ease now that his friend was feeling good: “I guess. But I have no idea how long I’m gonna last. Not very long, probably.”

This time at least he was right with his prediction. As soon as he slowly started thrusting in and out, the tight sensation increased tenfold. He could feel himself getting closer to climaxing and hearing Charlie’s soft groans whenever he hit the right spot drove him right over the edge. At the last moment he looked up into his best friend’s eyes, only half open, biting on his lower lip and still smiling at him.   
“Merlin! Oh my fucking god. Fuck. Wow.”, he shouted as his muscles tensed up and he came. Marcus pulled out, managing to toss away the condom with his last remaining strength, then sunk into Charlie’s waiting arms.

“So I take it this was good?”, his friend asked.   
“I’m ready to ride this gay train till the day I die-good!”, Marcus said in earnest.   
“You and me both”, Charlie grinned. They lay naked and sweaty in a tight embrace, Marcus’ head resting on Charlie’s chest. He could hear the heartbeat in his ears. It got slower and steadier as their breathing calmed down.

After a while, Charlie reached for his wand on the nightstand and turned off the lights. Only the glowing coals in the fireplace illuminated the room, dipping them into a soft golden light. It had started raining outside. Marcus felt more content than ever before – and it wasn’t due to his recent, satisfying orgasm. His right hand lazily brushed over Charlie’s chest and neck. The scarry little bird felt so familiar now.

They covered themselves with the warm blanket, both too sleepy to brush their teeth.   
“How are you feeling?”, sounded Charlie’s low voice. Marcus lifted his head and grinned.   
“Really? Talking about feelings now? Should I answer via a letter or better crochet it out?”, he asked in a mocking tone.   
“Wanker”, Charlie muttered with a smile. Marcus lay down again, breathing in his friend’s smell that emitted from the warm skin: Woody, rich and fresh at the same time, like a mossy forest on a fall evening. A little smoky, maybe from the bonfire earlier that evening, and blending into the faintest trace of musky sweat. It smelled like home.

“I’m happy”, he whispered. Instead of answering, Charlie hugged him tighter and kissed him lightly on his hair.   
“Good Night.”, he said. “Good Night”, Marcus replied.


End file.
